Cinderella Doll
by abiirosee
Summary: AU. "It was no lie; it was beautiful. The porcelain face, the bright blue eyes, and curly yellow hair." A simple gift from a little girl in Europe turns out to change suicidal Marvin Sink's life forever. Can this little doll really impact him this much?
1. Prologue

_**A/N;;**__ Erm, starting this one…_

_Anyway, I'm dead excited about this story._

_By the way, the story is told in military time._

Making Fiends © Amy Winfrey  
Marvin's Siblings © Me, but they do exist in cannon, I expanded on them, so… Eh.

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**WARNINGS?: Suicide mentions and.. Swears.**

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**Prologue  
**_August 21__st__, 1947, 1745 Hours_

The seagull soared over the dark pink sky, as the setting sun gave the illusion of lavender clouds. Yes, it was good to be home, to Clamburg. The wind slowly whipped his coat open and almost off, and he placed a hand from the arm not in a sling on his head to keep his knit hat from flying off. Green eyes shined, looking over at the gray-colored sea. Yea, Marvin Sink couldn't help but smile, it was good to be back.

He watched fishing boats struggle to collect today's clams before they were sent home, to return to their families. The once flourishing town that was a major port for overseas trade, where most of its income came from before the war forced them to stop allowing boats to pass through.

Then, fishing and gathering shrimps and clams had become tough due to an oil rig explosion by enemy ships, and many businesses, due to lack of travel to the town in fear something got pass the barricade. The bad weather made harvesting crops and growing vegetables and fruits incredibly impossible.

Not like anyone had too, since Mayor Viktor Zahari took over. He was, in all honesty, not even in charge, and was clueless to what his daughter was doing to the beloved town. But because of that, Marvin was able to leave and make money, even if it wasn't a lot.

See, LEGAL drafting age for men was eighteen, and Marvin, who hadn't even turned sixteen when he signed up and got drafted, was one of many other males from the country who lied in order to get something for their families. Many of these boys were orphans with little brothers or sisters, or that they had someone sick in their family and due to the poor economy, their parents were not getting paid enough, if even their father was around.

Marvin's was a bit of both cases: his family needed the money, as seeing how his mother never worked and his father didn't get paid enough. Plus, his mother was ill; from what, no one had a clue, but he knew his mother was dying, and the money was just to help the family, as his father was never home, not because of the draft or war, because he just didn't want to be home.

And God forbid, his grandparents even THINK about them. His arm ached, and he rubbed it, the sling was causing it to grow heavy. All the thought about his situations and the condition Clamburg was in made his heart fall. "Marvin?"

He turned around, careful to not knock his suitcase into the water; it had something too valuable in there. He met the emerald eyes of the dark brown haired female, her body shaking. Almost three years his junior, she looked as if she hadn't slept in days. "It's you!"

Watching her run and carefully throw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, his breathe hitched. He was never used to this kind if affection from any of his siblings, for most of them had told him that they wouldn't 'care if he got shot' or that they'd 'hope he'd get blown up.'

But that was before his sister had sent him a message that her mother was on her death bed and her father stopped showing up. He frowned and she gripped his arm staring into his dark green eyes. "How are you?"

"I've been better." Her curly hair bounced as she latched onto his arm, her puffy skirt of the floral patterned dress swirled as she walked along side of him.

"Aunt Gwyneth arrived last year, and said it'd be a miracle if you surv…" she looked up to see his face darken, his eyes narrowing, his breathing picking up its pace. "Never mind. Promise me you'll never leave, Marvin?"

Marvin frowned. He didn't know what to say.

"I mean, at least for a while?"

He nodded, because he had lost his ability to speak.

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Without speaking most of the dinner, the room had become gloomy. No one asked questions, and no one mentioned anything about… _That_.

He pushed his beef around with his fork, and Marvin's eyes fell onto the older woman at the head of the table. She was babbling to the youngest child, and he was laughing. Thomas seemed to have a happy first three years of his life, while Marvin had missed it all.

Nicholas, the second oldest, stabbed his dinner with a fork. "So, Marvin, you lucky bastard, how was it in Europe?"

He frowned and glanced down, the lighter haired male smirking. Brushing a hand through his brown hair, he mumbled, "Fine. Nothing like the movies."

"What happened to your arm?" Rachel asked, crossing her arm. He rubbed it, and she said. "Is that from the…?"

"CHILDREN! CHILDREN, PLEASE!" Auntie Gwen chimed. "Just, whoever can stop asking Marvin questions gets a treat! I'm sure he's **very** tired right now."

Everyone seemed to gloom in mood, and Marvin looked at his sling, biting his lip. "May I be excused?"

"Of course, Marvin. Go relax, you need it." He dropped his plate on the counter before she had finished saying that and went upstairs into the shared room of himself and his three brothers: Nick, Paul, and Quinton.

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2334 Hours

Sitting in the shell-shaped chair, he watched the clock with such intensity, it was like a nightmare. He looked inside his lone suitcase, the only thing he was able to save before…

He never liked talking about it anymore. He sighed and removed his sling for a moment, trying to flex his arm, something that had become so painful lately. He hated feeling immobile like this.

This is not what he wanted, but he expected it being drafted at fifteen years of age. He knew that'd he could be hurt or die, and that he could possibly have never saw his family again, especially when he risked his life doing… _That_.

"How are you nowadays, Marvin? Are you really _fine_?" a voice cackled darkly, the tone filled with venom and looming death. He stopped breathing. "What? No reply for your own _brother_?"

"Quinton. It's late."

The shadow behind him cackled again, and he stepped into the room lit only by the fireplace. His black hair reflected to orange glow, and his pale blue eyes seemed almost an awkward green in the colorful warmth before them. "Never too late to wake up and find someone who has been MIA in this family not in bed when they return."

"I did what I had too. I have money."

"Not much."

"The economy is bad."

"That is so," said the younger, combing his curly black hair with his fingers, staring into the blazing fire. "But still, it's not much."

Marvin paused, thinking about how to reply, before saying, "Anything is good, especially in this family."

Quinton snorted, and absent-mindedly began to ramble to himself, "Yes, anything is good. Perhaps Mother Dearest's death will be good, or perhaps you actually being blown up would've been good. If those bastard grandparents had a heart attack, that be good. If Father was mugged and killed, that be marvelous."

"You speak of the bad."

"I speak of the bad because in the absences of all of you, some good has come out."

"Exactly what?" the brunet crossed his arms, and hugged his knees to his chest.

The black haired male smirked, rubbing his eyes and taking a seat in front of the suitcase, reaching for it, receiving only a warning snarl from Marvin before saying, "Nothing really, but we've made more money than you did, that's for sure."

"Pessimist." His brother's hand graced something, and he pulled it out, and held it in his hands, touching the clean, porcelain white face with his dirtied fingers, yet not leaving a mark on it.

Marvin reached out, and without resistant, Quint handed it over to him, and asked, "What's that?"

"There was this poor family who I couldn't leave the city before the bombings, and I took them out." He gently set the doll on his lap, saying, "I took a pair of clothes, my gun, and a military vehicle to evacuate them, and two others I had worked with that were orphans, trying to help their siblings.

"After that, the little girl told me in broken English she wanted me to have this doll, and it would bring me luck. It's magical, she had said, and I took it without protest, for it was rude to them to refuse this gift. I told them I had two little sisters who would love this pretty doll."

It was no lie; it was beautiful. The porcelain face, the bright blue eyes, and curly yellow hair. The rosy red cheeks made her soft, pink lips pop, and she wore a traditional, lacey blue gown with a white shawl. Quinton smiled, examining the doll as if it was a treasure.

"What about your arm?"

He frowned and rubbed it. "When I was driving back to the city, I fell asleep… And rolled it into a ditch, and broke my arm."

"Harsh," said the gothic male, yawning.

"Go to bed."

"I was on my way." The younger stood up and walked upstairs into his room, and Marvin looking into the suitcase, peering into it as if it was like in a book he'd read as a child, Through the Looking Glass, and walked over, tossing clothes onto the sofa, and pulling out a slender handgun. He ran his hand over the cold metal, and cocked it, smirking.

He shouldn't even be alive; not now, not ever.

He shakily brought it up to his mouth, letting his pale lips touch the barrel of the gun, and closing his eyes, and waited for his finger to act on impulse, to pull the trigger.

To finish the job.

He waited, and when he didn't pull the trigger, he opened his eyes, and saw the doll sitting in the chair he had been in, peering at him, almost begging him not to do it.

He put the handgun back into the suitcase, and closed it up, looking at the doll. "Here," he said, walking over to the doll, watching her curls bounce as she was lifted up and placed onto the top of the fire place. "A beautiful place for a beautiful doll."

It seemed as if she smiled brightly.

"No, I won't kill myself," he stated, turning his back and making his way to the stairs, and turning to look at the doll.

"At least, not tonight." He started to climb the stairs, and as he made his way up to his shared room, the grandfather clock chimed, exclaiming it was midnight.

And as he closed the door, he swore he hear light giggling and movement from downstairs, but shrugged it up, and voted to sleep instead of investigating it.

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I loooooove this one. I do. In the next chapter, some more conflicts will arrive, and secrets about the doll, and when Marvin was in Europe, will arise.

_**- - Darlene A. Mode**_


	2. Chapter I

_**A/N;;**__ Another chapter! Loving this story sooo much. Dx_

_Not even funny._

Making Fiends © Amy Winfrey

**WARNINGS?: Fail German, probably, swears, and more angst-y Marvin.**

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Chapter I

_Sunday, August 22__nd__, 0507 Hours_

He wasn't sure when he had slept so well. The older men had told him once he returned home, he'd never sleep right again, but maybe it was because he never cherished being in a room with the hateful siblings until now, when he realized he missed them.

Even though he was sure Nicky, Paul, and Quint didn't miss him. That's three for eight, still good.

He awoke to find the room empty, and scurrying downstairs, his aunt's cracking voice commanding them to do various objectives. _Not now, Rachel! Oh, Rosie! Can you fetch me the broom?_ she would ask of the younger girls. _I fear someone had tried to break in last night._

At that, he shot up, and grabbed his sling, hastily putting it on and rushing downstairs. "What's the problem, Aunt Gwen?"

The gray-haired woman straightened up, and turned to him, a stone cold expression on her face. "Oh, dearie, it's just that someone broke in."

The younger ones were outside, and the older kids were inside, finishing tidying up the living room. He looked over, and by the tipped over coffee table laid the doll, and he stared at it. "Thank the Lord everything is still hear." She walked over and picked up the very gorgeous little doll, placing it where Marvin had surely left it last night.

"Momma! Momma! Rosie found this outside in da bush!" said the youngest, running into the house, causing Marvin to cringe at the sound of Aunt Gwyneth's being called of "momma."Rachel was holding the little handgun Marvin knew all too well. Gwyneth reached out a wrinkly hand, and took the gun, examining it with fear.

She turned to Marvin, speaking softly, "Lock it up in case this happens again, and they choose to use it on us instead of throwing it out the window."

"Yes ma'am."

She clapped her hands together, "Ophelia, be a darling and gather the younger children. Clean yourselves up, children, for today we will be attending church."

A loud groan of protest arose from Quinton and Nicholas' throats, and Paul help back any sort of discontent, knowing that as long as Gwyneth Young was here, they'd live by her rules.

"Why do we gotta go to church?"

"Why, to celebrate! Your brother is home! Alive!"

Nick shot a nasty glare towards Marvin, and spoke quietly, "It wouldn't make much of a difference to me if he were dead." With that note, Gwen and Ophelia took the younger children to clean up while Marvin watched his brothers trudge up the stairs.

His eyes settled one last time onto the doll, and something about it seemed to glow. He shrugged it off and went to prepare his Sunday best.

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_0815 Hours_

Sitting in the pew, waiting for the service to begin, he watched younger children run around the aisles and in front of the pastor's family.

The family was the Elise family, a very Religious family. Both parents had grown up raised in this town, and both were strict when it came to their children. He studied the wife, dressed elegantly in a plum dress and wearing a wonderful, flower hat to go along with it. The eldest son was a boy he had use to play with, Malachi Elise. Malachi had taken after his father, with hair like the flames of the Pascual candle and freckles across his cheeks. He was currently bowed in respect and prayer. Next to him sat the antsy little girl with softer brown hair with red hues, whose name he never remembered. Perhaps it was Vanessa? No, it was Vanora Elise. The silent girl tilted her head down, so all anyone could see was her hat and light curls.

Now, he was certain there were more than those two; but the eldest daughters both are off in a nunnery, and there was one more, a boy with dark red hair, almost that of blood, for he knew that he had walked Ophelia home right after she ran off at the news that Marvin was leaving.

His name was Weylin Elise, and as Marvin scanned the church, he saw the boy nervously standing in the back corner, trying to hide from sight. "RACHEL! ROSALYNN! STANLY!" his aunt called with enthusiasm. He tilted his head slightly to look over at the St. Joseph side, and saw another well known family.

It was indeed, the Zaharis, all dressed in black, and even the mother wearing a black hat with a veil. The only child present was Viktoriya, who changed her name to Vendetta, and as he turned around to hush his sister's growing voice, he noticed Joana Zahari was busy chatting with her about something.

"We have immigrants coming in, and my papa is not pleased."

"From where?"

"No one knows, apparently they left Europe to live in peace."

His eyes turned as the doors swung open, and loud, chatter began to build up. It was not in a language he had heard, and he watched in interest as the family was hushed by a dark skinned female who was short, with a curvy, very thick-built body. She seemed annoyed and huffed into her seat, bickering in a one-sided argument with the man who appeared to be her husband.

A boy stood up, who was dark skinned with black hair, and giant glasses framed his face. He gave his little sister a good natured smirk, and allowed his sister, who looked a few years younger than Ophelia, and Joana sneered. "Look at them. So disrespectful to the Lord."

The male sat down and began to bicker with one of his brothers, as two other girls sat quietly, deep in thought, and whispered in their weird tongue. "Papa says they may be Bohemians."

"From Czech?" The girls chatted, when Violetta called Joana over, and she stood up to sit with her family. "Wow. Look, Aunt Gwen!"

"Don't stare, it's rude." That was the end of any chatter, for the service began, and everyone seemed to be more involved in the words of Pastor Elise. One thing Marvin took note was that the youngest boy never joined his family in the front.

At the end, the pastor began to speak, "Brothers, sisters…" He smiled and looked back, his face darkening, and his smile fading. "Today, I would like to welcome new members into our community based off of Christ, the Jones family."

Everyone turned to face them, and Marvin felt an odd feeling, and Quinton whispered, "Bet them bastards broke into our house."

"Immigrants? Can they speak English at all?" Ophelia was hanging over his shoulder, whispering to him. He ignored it, watching the family as they waved (sort of), and the pastor said, "Also, the Sweet Shoppe was broken into last night. If any information is known, please report it immediately."

So it wasn't just his house?

The service was dismissed, and he watched his aunt usher everyone out. When he was certain they were gone, he took a step, and saw his little sister turn to stand in the corner.

Right next to Weylin Elise. He scanned the room, and grabbed her hand, which Marvin thought as rude to take a young girl's hand without permission, but he dropped it after saying something to her, and she left in a hurry, and Malachi Elise pushed past him, to make his way to his brother.

He decided this was a strange town indeed.

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"Marvin, dearie!" He had been asleep since the morning service, due to a rude awakening, and now his aunt wanted something from him. "Will you please go into town and get some eggs and milk?"

He didn't want too; actually, he felt like he should object, but he decided to go anyway. He needed to get out of the house, and what better way than to go into town?

He grabbed some cash and quickly left the hose, he saw his sister already leaving to go somewhere, and she turned around. Her pace picked up and she sprinted off, holding the skirt up off the ground. He blinked, shaking it off as one of her weird quirks, and made his way into town.

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0143 Hours

He found the Immigrant boy loitering outside the market, and he watched as the store owner sent glares between the customers inside and the teen outside. It was weird, the sudden robberies coinciding with the arrival of the family.

He approached the boy, and simply asked, "Did you do it?"

He blinked, his darker skin reflecting sunlight, and he tugged on his shirt. His hair was shaved short, and he wore giant round glasses. "No me."

"So you didn't rob my house and the shop?" He shook his head, making Marvin relax at the fact he understood English well. "Where are you from?"

He paused, and simply said. "War country."

He frowned, and his arm began to ache, and the male began, "Mom no like it. She tired of work for owner. Father injured in war… We no like fight." He paused, and said, "Father injure in crashed."

His heart dropped, and Marvin felt sick. "O-oh, and what's your name?"

"Were Mikkel, now _Amerika_* say I Mort. Morton Jones." He wasn't fluent in English and Marvin wasn't fluent in his language, but the rough sounding language muttered resembled the country of his homeland's name. "I like name. Name?"

He blinked, before regerstering that her was asking for his name. "Uh, uh…" He was still stuck on processing the simple answer. "Marvin. Marvin Sink."

Mort help out his hand, the short man giving the boy a friendly smile. "You nice, Marvin Sink. How you like town?"

He shrugged, preferring not to answer, and waved it off. Mort blinked, and ignored it, and before he was going to speak again, the door opened, and a light black haired, almost brown-haired female walked out carrying bags.

If she wasn't so young, Marvin would say she was breathe taking; long black lashed framing the dark blue orbs, almost black, stared back at him, examining him before saying, "_Was machst du, Bruder?_*" He watched her say the words with such ease, and having heard this dialect before, but believing it sounded like a rough and edgy language, had never heard it spoken so innocently. Her black skin was shadowed under the door frame.

Her brother, Mort, gave a hearted laugh. "That sister, Sanja. Call her Sibilia here. _Schwester!_* _Dies ist Marvin!_*" She nodded her greetings and spoke back at him quietly. She proceeded to tug on her brother's arm and drag him off.

"See you around, Morton."

"_Ja!_* I see you Marvin! _Ja!_" Marvin watched them disappear over the hill, and collapsed outside the market. He buried his face into his hands and began to scream.

"FUCK! FUCK!"

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2357 Hours

He stayed up that night, making sure no one was around outside. He had taken several walks, and even skipped dinner to do so. The brunet was stressed, he couldn't believe it. He hated himself even more that before, and before traveling back downstairs before midnight, checked on his slumbering family one last time. He faced the doll on the fireplace, and picked her up. "I'm sorry, but tonight I have to."

It was Ophelia who was still somewhat awake before he closed the door, hearing her lightly snore. He wondered if there was something wrong with her, or if it was just him. He tiptoed downstairs, and grabbed the gun he had obtained, and almost used nights before.

He watched the grandfather clock with such determination, to move the hands faster. At midnight, he swore, he wouldn't hold back. His hands twitched on the gun, with such determination, and he clenched his free hand. "I'll do it. I won't back out. Not today. Not again. I should've been killed."

He fell down again, onto his knees. He was an evil man. He had purposely swerved to hit the oncoming enemy, most of his unit in the covered vehicle with him, and he thought, at that time, he was saving people.

He was dead wrong.

Finally, he heard the loud, awakening chime. He brought the barrel to his mouth, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. It should have been me."

He was about to finish it to, his finger wrapped around the trigger, when he heard a peppy, "Whatcha doin'?"

Marvin's eyes widened, and he dropped the weapon. He turned to see, right in place of the angelic looking doll, a girl.

A girl… With the same curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks and pretty pale skin and blue eyes and pink lips as the doll.

He blinked, dumbfounded, "Tee hee!" the female giggled.

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FAIL GERMAN TRANSLATIONS:

_Amerika_ = America (Duh.)  
_Was machst du, Bruder?_ = What are you doing, brother?  
_Schwester_ = Sister  
_Dies ist Marvin!_ = This is Marvin!  
_Ja_ = Yes

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Oh Marvin, you just can't get a moments peace, can you? Not with eight siblings and Charlotte.

_So, there's a few things revealed: Mort's family and Marvin have a past. Marvin did something bad. Ophelia's up to something. The girl on the fireplace._

_Can you guess what Ophelia's up too?_

_Vendetta is very, very, very important, and you'll find out why in the next chapter._

_DS:LG! IS IN PROGRESS! I'M ACTUALLY ALMOST DONE WITH THE FIRST PART OF THE CHAPTER!_

_**- - Darlene A. Mode**_


	3. Chapter II

_**A/N;;**__ So I am the worst updater ever. Just, you know…_

_I should be working on my W.H. and V&D homework. I have 55 questions due by the 29__th__ for V&D and I have to outline 5 sections in W.H. by November 2__nd__, along with nightly Algebra and I need to study for my Spanish test and Physical Science exam coming up._

_I blame school work for lack of updates /excuses._

Making Fiends © Amy Winfrey

**WARNINGS: Swears, suicidal tendencies**

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Chapter II

"Are you okay?" He must be dreaming, no, he **had** to be dreaming. The fire was dying down, the clock had stopped chiming, and the big blue eyes staring into his were hovering above him.

No, no, no. He must have gone insane! War made him like this. PTSD, paranoia, depression, hallucinating, something he could think of to explain this! The old men HAD to be right, dammit! He was going fucking INSANE!

"Yoo hoo~." She was now waving a small hand in his face, her smile never wavering from her seemingly perfectly carved face, her curls maintaining perfect shape as they bounced.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?"

Well, at least she knew he was a catatonic wreck.

She rocked on her heels and held out her hands, grabbing his and yanking him up. He smile was that of ivory colored, and she spoke with giggles, "Boy, are you weird!"

Marvin fumed and yanked his hands away, and was about to start screaming again if light footsteps were not heard above. He froze and the female tilted her head up to the ceiling. He grabbed the gun and pointed it at the blonde, and frowned, "Stay here."

"Why do you have a gun?"

He didn't answer but made his way upstairs, watching the door down the hall open. He hid behind a little hall wardrobe, and peered over. Who was up at this hour?

The figure seemed feminine, and maybe he had woken one of his sisters, so Marvin called out, "Ophelia?"

The figure stopped mid-door closing. "Yes, Marvin?"

"Did I wake you?" She opened the door and nodded, and he squinted. Was she wearing a jacket?

She spoke quietly, "You did, then I got the chills and grabbed a jacket. I was just checking to make sure everything was alright. Is someone in the house?"

"N-no," he spoke low, and turned his back. "Go back to sleep."

She didn't reply, and he heard the door close, sulking back downstairs to see the empty living room. "Oh shit!" Where the hell was that girl?

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Tee hee!" Marvin almost let out a scream as he turned around.

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2403 Hours

Viktoriya Zahari sat in her bed, staring out her window. The knock on the door had interrupted her inner musings. "Vicky?"

She stood up, her long, dark green nightgown swayed at her movements, and her older sister, Nikol, pushed open her door, saying, "I spoke with mother tonight. Father has fallen ill."

She turned around and walked to the window, a smirk across the younger's face spreading. "And have we called a doctor?"

"He says there is not much time."

"And his will?"

"Arranged that you would take over if something were to happen." Viktoriya heard her sister's dark laugh, and she spoke softly, "But…"

The laughter stopped. "But what?"

Nikol looked away, short black hair framing her face. The elder frowned as she saw her younger, evil, very controlling sister of hers, "Father inserted a loophole. If you are not married within three weeks of his death, then the city of Clamburg is forced to… Hold an election for the next mayor."

A frustrated growl escaped her throat and she turned around. "Tell me the name of the family whose son has just returned from war."

"Why not the pastor's son?"

"Because his religion will influence his choices. Now what the hell is that brunet boy's name? His sister is on good terms with _Joana_." A fiery venom of hate escaped her lips as she spat her twin's name.

"Well, I know the girl's name is Ophelia Sink."

"Sink. Great. When father is dead, I will pay the Sinks a visit. Prepare the wedding plans, Nikol!"

"Yes, sister."

"Oh, and Nikol? Investigate the family that just moved here. I believe the robberies are related to them."

"Yes."

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2449 Hours

"But why!" He rubbed his temples as he sat on his front step, and the girl began to inquire his actions. Why did this happen? He was sure he was dreaming! But alas, he was sitting on his stoop, with the girl who was actually a doll, and listening to her constant questioning.

He bushed his brown bangs form his forehead and said, "Because I deserve to die."

"But no one deserves to die! I'm sure people would miss you!" the blonde spoke. Marvin scoffed and the female could tell he didn't believe her. "I would miss you!"

"I don't even know you." She giggled and she nodded, and he buried his head. Annoying brat!

"I could get to know you, then I would really miss you! Why don't you tell me your name?"

"Why? So you can send in my obituary when you break in tomorrow and kill me in my sleep?"

She frowned slightly, and from her pretty lips, the words, "Well, to you, I guess I'd be doing you a favor."

He was taken aback at such a harsh reply at his remark, and he looked away. The blonde turned away too, and she stayed quiet. He cleared his throat and asked, "So where are you from?"

"Well, I use to live in France, but… Then I was found by that little German girl and I've lived with her until you took me."

"She gave you to me," he said sarcastically, playing along.

"For good reasons too." The clock began to chime one, and Marvin stood up to streach out.

"Well, sorry I'm such a douchebag," he said with his eyes closed. "So tell me, what is your name?" His question was met by silence. "Hello?" he turned to where she was sitting, and suddenly realized tha in her place was the doll he had received in Europe.

"Where'd she go?" he picked up the doll and held her with care. Something seemed different. The smile she once bore was replaced by a little frown.

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0103 Hours

"We're going to get caught soon." She pushed him away to make sure she had his full attention as her nightgown was sliding off her shoulders from a slight tug from him. "Weylin, Marvin almost caught me tonight."

The blood-redheaded boy sighed and he tugged at his shirt. "Come on, Ophy, we've done this so many times."

His hand slid up her leg, and she slapped it away, and exclaimed, "Yes, but I'm being serious! When we did this, no one in my family cared because Marvin wasn't there! Marvin would kill you if he found out."

He rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against his neck, and she groaned, "Weylin, listen to me! What if your brother or your parents come up to the chapel for some odd reason and find us like this?"

"We can bring Vanny to watch out." She ignored his hand sliding up on her leg again, but he stopped and sat down on the altar. "Then again, with the robberies going on, it wouldn't be safe for Vanora. I care about her well being too much."

Ophelia smiled softly and sat down next to him, her head on his shoulders and her hand gripping his, and she spoke, "I love it when you admit you care."

He didn't reply, but turned to her. His eyes were dark and filled with horror and he removed his shirt. The scars that ran deep and crossed each other, the marks and bruises that littered his skin. Even his neck had a scar from a cut or whip on it.

"Ophelia, please, I need to leave."

"I know, and I promise, once we're eighteen- - -."

He grabbed her shoulders and whispered, "By then, it will be too late." Her eyes dimmed in fear; his parents' attacks were getting more vicious and deadly. "You know the wedding just has to be a matter of state and permission from one's father!"

"I never see him nor will he ever- - -."

"In absence of one's father, you can ask the oldest male in the house, and in absence of the oldest male, the oldest caretaker can give permission."

She felt her jaw just fall open. "But Marvin- - -."

"It's worth a shot! Please! Then we can go ask old man Zahari to wed us under the legal court, because I've already made arrangements."

She knew the mayor had gone behind his daughter's back to help them, and she nodded. "Okay, I'll ask Marvin." He kissed her, and she fell back onto the floor of the risen altar. Something about this seemed wrong, like something would hold them back.

She turned her head to the stained glass window in the back, the picture of Jesus Christ practically glaring down on them like they were sinners. Never mind, they _were_ sinners.

Ophelia had a bad feeling about this.

_

* * *

_

Oh, Ophy, if only you knew.

_I know Charlotte's OOC, but as the story will progress, we'll all know why she is like that, and Marvin, you are a douchebag!_

_I kind of want to bring Maggie and Marion into the story, but I don't know how to make them fit. Well, Maggie at least. Expect Marion in the next chapter. And Malachi. And Mort!_

_**- - Darlene A. Mode**_


End file.
